


absolution

by a_good_soldier



Category: Christian Bible, Jesus Christ Superstar - All Media Types
Genre: Fix-It, Gen, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 14:04:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3384398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_good_soldier/pseuds/a_good_soldier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And on the third day, He was risen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	absolution

**Author's Note:**

> so like?? i saw jesus christ superstar live (it was awesome). and i created this, because, like, obviously what you do when you encounter what amounts to a full-cast production of biblical fanfiction is make fanfiction of the fanfiction. also just FYI, in this version of jcs judas shoots himself rather than hanging himself (it was all very dramatic, there may have been tears, the gun had this whole symbolism, it was great).
> 
> also- i am only vaguely familiar with the actual bible (i did some googling and tried to remember some old sunday school lessons) so, consider this a canon AU? is that even applicable when it comes to bible fanfiction? i'm pretty sure "canon AU" in reference to the bible is just blasphemy. oops. AND in this fic jesus deals w/ the aftereffects of his crucifixion & preceding beatings etc (why?? because i'm trash!!) so, although it is v slight and doesn't really come into play much, be warned.

And on the third day, He was risen.

 

—

 

“My God-” Mary exclaimed, then fell silent; she, who had been waiting next to his grave, who had eschewed sustenance in her grief. Jesus knelt down to her and kissed her, on her forehead, on her cheek. On her lips, a soft benediction.

 

She was shaking in his arms, which was hardly surprising. Jesus looked behind him - the stone rolled away to reveal the dark hole where his body had lain. He turned back to Mary.

 

“Oh, my Lord,” Mary whispered into his shoulder. She reached for his arm, but pulled away, as if afraid of what might happen if she dared to touch him. Jesus held her hand, and pulled it to his chest. Now, more than ever, he needed someone to help him feel human.

 

“Mary,” he said. His first word as a newly arisen man. As the Son of God.

 

“We must tell the others,” she said, pulling him along the road, suddenly animated now that she had seen enough to confirm the truth of his existence. “The apostles are at Peter’s house.”

 

He laughed. Of course they were - Peter had always been the charismatic, popular one. Him and Simon, but Simon didn’t have anywhere to call home. He wondered what Judas thought of Peter’s house.

 

—

 

When Jesus walked in, hand in hand with Mary Magdalene into Peter’s home, he noticed Simon stand and start towards him. “My God, it’s…”

 

“Yes,” Mary said, tears in her eyes. “Yes. It’s Him.”

 

Jesus could hear the capital H, but ignored it for now. Let them think of him as holy; after all, he had only just risen from death.

 

Peter ran towards him and gave him a hug. He held on tightly; it was beautiful, to be held by one of his closest friends. 

 

Jesus looked around. They all were in varying stages of shock and happiness; Thomas looked doubtful, though. He looked around at the rest of the apostles, and spat out, “Really? You think this guy’s real?”

 

Peter turned to him. “How can you say that? He is the Son of God!”

 

They all looked to Jesus with newfound realization. This was their proof.

 

Not Thomas, though. “You seriously think, what, a man can rise from the dead?” He looked at Jesus with protective anger in his eyes. “I don’t know what you are. But you need to leave. These people are grieving.”

 

“Thomas,” Jesus said, pulling away from Peter. “Do you not see my wounds?” He held out his hands; he gestured to his feet, still tacky with blood.

 

“Oh,” Thomas breathed. He walked towards Jesus. “Oh, my Lord…” He knelt at Jesus’ feet. “Forgive me. I should have had faith.”

 

Jesus resisted the urge to thank him for his doubts. The time for questions had been before his death; now, his mission was to become this holy man, this son of God. Now, he was untouchable.

 

“Stand, Thomas,” Jesus said, and pulled him into a hug. “Of course I forgive you.”

 

Thomas shuddered with his absolution. Jesus let him go, and realized his power. He didn’t need to touch; he could heal with a word.

 

He looked around for Judas, the only person other than Mary who could remind him of his humanity. “Where…” Jesus muttered, looking around the room.

 

“My Lord?” Peter asked.

 

“Where is Judas?” Surely they had forgiven him for his betrayal - surely they would have banded together in grief.

 

The whole room stiffened. Mary squeezed his hand, and let go. Some of the apostles - James, Paul - left the room, obviously shaking in anger.

 

Jesus looked around in bewilderment. None of them would meet his eyes. “I have forgiven him for his betrayal. He is but a man; and furthermore, he played a role in fulfilling God’s plan.” Surely they could forgive another man’s mistake, especially when done with good intentions as Judas’ mistake was.

 

Peter was the first to speak up. “He is dead.”

 

Jesus looked to him, stunned. “He’s what?”

 

“They found his body-” Mary said, and cut herself off. Jesus remembered that she must have loved him, too. They all must have.

 

“Where was he?” Jesus asked. He needed to know. He needed to visit his grave. How had he not seen Judas during the time after his death? Where had he been?

 

There was silence. Finally, Peter spoke up. “I will take you to him.” 

 

“I’m coming with you,” Mary said, and Simon stood up as though his presence was a given. The four of them left Peter’s living room.

 

—

 

“Where are we going?” Jesus asked, again. He was beginning to feel like a child, asking: are we there yet?

 

But Peter treated his words with magnitude and respect. Perhaps questions were less annoying, coming from the Son of God. “We’re going to the end of this street. Only another minute.”

 

Jesus fell silent. Would he be ready to see a grave? To see Judas’ name carved in stone - irrefutable proof of the fact that he was no longer in this world?

 

Before they reached the end of the street, however, Simon stopped them all. “He will be…” Peter sucked in a sharp breath, as if he had just remembered something. “Peter,” Simon continued, “perhaps you should go and-”

 

“No.” Mary said. “He deserves to be seen like this. I need to see him like this.” She had heard rumours of his death, of how it had happened. She needed to be certain.

 

“But does the Lord need to see him like this?” Simon asked, and Mary turned away.

 

Jesus frowned. “Like what?”

 

They all looked at each other. Peter led them around the corner of a nearby building, to the park where they had been protesting not long ago.

 

Jesus looked around. “This isn’t a cemetery.”

 

Peter laughed, a short breath that was, perhaps, closer to a sob. “No. It’s not.” He brought Jesus to a tree, one where they used to gather to cool down in the shade.

 

“Oh,” Jesus said. He knelt, next to Judas’ body. “Oh.” The gun, next to his hand. The bloodstained grass.

 

He looked around, suddenly unbearably angry. “You didn’t bury him. You didn’t-”

 

“It’s only been three days since his death and yours. We prioritized,” Simon said, and turned away.

 

“You-” Jesus said, and rose. “You _prioritized_?” He realized, distantly, that his hands were shaking. “You treated him with less respect than a _dog-_ ”

 

Mary put her hand- her cool, soothing hand- on his cheek and turned him towards her. “He betrayed you. He betrayed us all.” She faltered, and her hand slipped down to his shoulder. She didn’t speak.

 

Jesus crushed her into a hug. They held each other, and wept for Judas.

 

—

 

“My God,” Jesus said, that night. “Please…” He didn’t know what he wanted to say. “Forgive Judas, my Lord. And…” He bowed his head. “Let me see him. Please. Let me have hope that I will see him one day. Let me give him my blessing.” He noticed, vaguely, that he was bent over completely, head to the floor. “Let me see him again, one day. Amen.”

 

He stayed there kneeling for a few moments. He could not seem to make himself get up.

 

He remembered being in this position during the hours- days- before his death, although it was different this time, now that he did not have whip marks all along his back. Now that he did not have the sense memory of Herod’s hand creeping along his stomach, threatening to go lower. Now that he no longer felt echoes of the ownership other people seemed to have over his body, the way his human form would bend and break to their will, the way they’d beat him even when no one was watching, the way they all laughed when he cried out for his mother as he struggled to breathe through the blood in his lungs-

 

He noticed that his breathing was quicker, and that tears were forming in his eyes. He shrugged it off. He went to sleep, and considered it natural that his stomach was cramping and his fingers would not seem to still.

 

—

 

Judas cradled him, and breathed life into him, as God breathed life into Adam, the first of Men. “Judas?” Jesus whispered, eyes closed.

 

“Yes. I’m here,” he said, and stroked Jesus’ hair.

 

“Where is this?” Jesus asked.

 

“Nowhere,” Judas said, and pushed Jesus away. His voice was angry. “He used me. Your Father, your holy Father, used me, to kill _you_.” 

 

Jesus found that he could not open his eyes. “Please, Judas, forgive me,” he cried out, his muscles tense from the beatings, his wounds burning. 

 

“No, my Lord,” Judas said, and he sounded infinitely sad. “Forgive me.”

 

And Jesus awoke before he could say that he already had.

 

— 

 

“You’re sad today,” Mary noted as she sat next to him. The crate wasn’t exactly a comfortable resting place, but the apostles were napping on the couch. Peter was trying to figure out what to do - when to do the big reveal, let everyone know that Jesus had arisen. Jesus just wanted a few days’ break first.

 

“It’s only the second day since I… woke up,” Jesus said. He hated reminding them of his resurrection. They start to use his name with reverence, and he’s afraid there’s no one left to bring him back down to earth.

 

They sat together in silence and watched as Simon got up to make some food for himself and Peter. Paul woke up and nudged James; they went to help Peter map out a good location for the next rally. Thomas, still scuttling awkwardly around Jesus, lay a blanket down gently on Martha as she napped. All of them seemed to be a self-contained unit; they didn’t need Jesus anymore.

 

“They still need you,” Mary said, as though Jesus had spoken. “Without you, this movement would have died.”

 

Jesus thought about what this movement had cost them, and thought perhaps it might be better if it had.

 

He did not voice his thoughts, though, and Mary did not discern them this time. He simply said, “I’m glad it did not,” and hoped he wouldn’t have to stay for long. He loved his friends, all these beautiful, passionate people here who believed in him and his mission long before he himself ever did, but he wasn’t made to preach anymore. He had already given them one life; he thought, a little bitterly, that it was unfair of God to demand devotion in his next.

 

He looked around at these people, and wondered if someone else would step up to the plate after he died this second time (whether through old age, or maybe crucifixion again, and he resolutely did not shudder at the thought of choking on his own blood, the feeling of his own piss running down his legs as the crowd jeered and mocked, the nails tearing at his sagging skin-), or if he would have to be reborn again and again and devote the rest of eternity to living on this earth without hope of respite.

 

Without hope of making things right with Judas.

 

—

 

 _You have murdered me_ , Judas screamed to God, his Holy Father. Jesus watched as Judas pulled out the gun - the gun Jesus had handed to him, oh - and-

 

“It’s strange,” Judas said from behind him, “to watch yourself die. Perhaps it will be you on the cross in your next dream.”

 

Jesus sighed. His eyes were fixed on Judas’ body, his brains splattered on the tree behind him. “If you are truly here in this dream, then I have no desire to awaken to another day.”

 

“Don’t taunt me, Christ.” Jesus could feel the heat of his breath on the back of his neck, but still Judas did not touch him. “Hope is cruel.”

 

“Hope is what saves,” Jesus said, and tried to turn around.

 

Judas laughed. “It’s too late to save me.”

 

Jesus opened his eyes. Simon’s arm was dangling off the couch. Mary was curled next to him on the sleeping-bag-turned-mattress in the middle of Peter’s living room.

 

He could still hear Judas’ laugh.

 

—

 

He managed to bully a few of the newer apostles, the ones who had been less sure of their place before he died, into burying Judas in the same cemetery where his father, Joseph, was buried. He called it bullying, but really he just asked them if they could do it, and they leapt up to do his bidding. Talk about abuse of power.

 

He wondered if it was even possible for any use of his power to be abuse. He was perfect, wasn’t he? He was the Son of God.

 

Mary’s hand on his arm startled him out of his thoughts. “It’s going to be today.”

 

“Today?” he asked, feeling unprepared. “It’s only the third day.”

 

“We can’t hide you forever,” she replied, and did not say _you can’t hide forever_.

 

He let them pull him into their van - it was clean, he noted with distant surprise, cleaner than it had been before he, well - and watched the scenery go by.

 

He noticed the crowd before he realized it was for him. “What is this?” He looked around, but no one would look his way. “There are so many of them- it’s _dangerous_ ,” he said, feeling like Judas, his dear worrywart.

 

“They want to see you,” Mary said, and smiled at him. It was a reassuring smile, and Jesus leaned back in his seat, reluctantly soothed by her kindness. “They’re here to see you. They’re not going to be doing anything violent.”

 

“I hope not,” Jesus said, looking out. Perhaps his death had drained the fight out of him. Perhaps he was just afraid of dying again.

 

“We’re here,” Peter said from the driver’s seat, and they all nudged and shifted and tripped their way out of his overpacked van. It was a miracle the police hadn’t stopped them for traffic law violations, Jesus thought.

 

Jesus stepped out, and the crowd hushed. He looked around at his people - these people who had come to see him, to see his return from the dead - and felt like an animal on display.

 

He raised his hands, and let God speak through him.

 

—

 

“That was incredible,” Mary said to him, as the crowd began to disperse. “What you said… you’ve given everyone hope.”

 

Hope is cruel, he thought, and then said, “It’s what I’m here to do.” He looked up at the heavens, where his Father was surely looking over his people, waiting for the next time Jesus would give himself over as a vessel.

 

They watched over the crowd and saw the police’s strange hesitance to get close to the action. When only the apostles were left, they did not linger and threaten; they gave them a respectful nod, and went back to their police headquarters, or wherever it was police went after they left a rally. Usually they marched closer to the action with their batons raised high, so Jesus was a little out of his depth this time around.

 

He remembered, vaguely, what he had said to the crowd. Not the details, but he remembered that he had said something about hope, and love, and God.

 

He remembered what he realized, but did not say, which was that he would be on earth for only 40 days. 37 days, technically, after this day ended.

 

He kept that knowledge to himself like a precious gem, secretive and guilty, but still pleased. He could stop. He could go home. His work, this time, had an expiry date that wouldn’t come with torture beforehand.

 

“Do you want to go?” Peter asked, and he realized that everyone had cleaned up.

 

“Yes,” Jesus said, and slid into Peter’s crowded van, and tried to ignore the way they would all press themselves against the cloth seats to make room for the Son of God.

 

—

 

“Please,” Jesus said, “let me hold you- _please-_ ”

 

Judas flinched from his touch, as he had done, as he always did. Jesus could not see his face.

 

“Judas, I love you,” and it was the wrong thing to say, of course, when all Judas needed from him was absolution, but he could not seem to make his mouth form the word forgive.

 

Judas stood up, and all Jesus could see were his feet, blistered and cracked. “I wish you did.” Judas walked away, and ignored Jesus crying out for him.

 

—

 

He slipped away from Mary’s embrace, and picked his way through his sleeping friends. Simon stirred, but only turned over and went back to sleep.

 

Jesus made his way to the garden out back - where he had prayed once, to his God, and had been betrayed by Judas. He knelt down, and hoped that maybe Judas would appear to him once he was done.

 

_O Father,_

_Blessed be thy name;_

_Bring me peace until the end of my days here;_

_Let me fulfill my duty to You, my Lord,_

_Without fear of evil or inner turmoil;_

_O Father,_

_Blessed be thy name;_

_Make me Your instrument of salvation;_

_Let me bring Your message to this earth,_

_Without my sins clouding Your words;_

_O Father,_

_Blessed be thy name;_

_Amen._

 

He stayed there, on the cold ground, in the middle of the night, hoping for some sort of reaction. Hoping for Judas. Hoping for God’s light to burn through him, leaving him empty and painless in the middle. Hoping, hoping, hoping. He breathed, and let himself shiver with phantom pain, his shirt rubbing against wounds and scabs that no longer existed, his chest burning hot and cold as he was humiliated in front of Herod, the bones of his wrists pulled between the force of gravity and the rusted nail they had pushed through his flesh.

 

He screamed with all the rage he’d had and all the breath he hadn’t had on the cross. He was just so _angry_ , so angry at the injustice of it, at the fact that he’d had to lose himself and his best friend and all the rest of it, too, and then had to come back and carry on as though nothing had happened; at the fact that he had been _crucified_ , and then had preached the word of the Lord to sinners long dead, and then had been resurrected to further his Father’s agenda.

 

He took a deep breath. He closed his eyes, and forgot his pain. He went back to sleep. He did not dream.

 

—

 

The rest of his 37 days passed by in a haze - he remembered that he preached to more people, that he met with his mother and she looked at him with fear in her eyes, that a wandering traveler had told him that Pilate had committed suicide, too. He remembered feeling that he had lost everything that made him human, and then seeing Mary, who looked at him the same way Judas had, and thinking _well, perhaps not everything_.

 

He remembered that he did not dream; that on his last day of corporeality, he could not remember Judas’ face.

 

He rose from his earthly form, and saw Peter comforting the rest of the apostles, and Mary holding him and Simon as though she could not bear to let go, and Jesus had hope that they would take care of themselves.

 

—

 

There was a strangeness in communicating with God the Father directly, Jesus mused, and wondered how to bring up the fact that he wanted to see Judas and also didn’t want to go back to earth without him.

 

Of course, as soon the thought crossed his mind, his Father chuckled, and waved him off. It was probably below the Father of all Creation to say something like, “Get lost, kiddo, go find your boyfriend, I’ll hit you up later,” but that was how Jesus chose to interpret it. Strange how he was dead (for good, this time), and felt more human than ever.

 

He was pleased to be rid of his body, too. He could recognize now that he had been experiencing some form of aftershock, but now he was free of the sense-memory that clouded his judgment. He could also move so much more quickly now - he had explored all of heaven, and Judas was not there, and it would take him only an eternity (seconds, millennia, they were the same) to explore hell, too. He tried not to think about what he might find there.

 

—

 

“Oh,” Jesus said, same as he had said when he found Judas’ body lying in the park. He reached for Judas, and was finally able to touch him; he soothed his hurts, and embraced him, as he had longed to do for so long. Judas did not pull away from him, and Jesus was grateful, even if it was only because he was too weak to do so.

 

He felt Judas shake under him, and was afraid he was crying, until he saw Judas laughing. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you,” Judas said. 

 

“Well, now you can look upon me anytime you wish,” Jesus said, and held him closer. “I’ll get you out of here.”

 

“Ha!” Judas pushed him away, but Jesus resisted. Don’t let go, not yet, Jesus prayed. “That’s a new one.” Jesus felt Judas’ hands clench in his shirt, then release. “Odd how the man who should want me here more than anyone else is telling me he’s gonna rescue me.”

 

“Why would I want you here?” Jesus whispered into Judas’ hair, ignoring his muttered _you know why_. “Judas, I forgive you,” he said, and did not think about whether Judas would ever forgive him.

 

“This is too cruel,” Judas said. “Please,” and he started to struggle, “please let me go-”

 

“Not until you’re out of here,” Jesus said, suddenly wary of the demons around him.

 

“Anything you want, just don’t,” and Judas was _sobbing_ , Jesus realized, “don’t _say_ that, not if you don’t-”

 

Jesus kissed his forehead, wiped the tear tracks from his friend’s cheeks, and got the hell out of there.

 

—

 

“Oh,” Judas said, in an in-between world of Jesus’ making. “It’s really you,” he said, and fell to his knees. He flinched back from Jesus’ hands, sprawling onto his back, and Jesus’ heart hurt to see Judas desperately, awkwardly scrambling away.

 

“Please don’t leave me,” Jesus said, and knelt. Judas stopped moving, and Jesus noticed that his shoulders were shaking. 

 

“Is this another one of your tricks?” Judas asked, and Jesus was almost offended until he realized Judas wasn’t talking to him. “Another one of your attempts to break me? Because you’ve won, this time-”

 

“No, Judas, no tricks-”

 

“Please!” Judas cried, and shuffled away from Jesus’ outstretched palm. “Am I to believe that the Son of God would see me worthy of forgiveness?”

 

“You are worthy of everything that is mine to give,” Jesus said, and pulled Judas to him; and this time, he did not resist.


End file.
